


Isabel Lovelace Has a Good Day

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Gen, fluff and recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: Two months back on Earth, Isabel Lovelace wakes up and decides that today, finally, she will have a good day.





	Isabel Lovelace Has a Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> written for tumblr user murder-goblin for the wolf 359 secret santa! they requested lovelace being happy and healthy, so i wrote a short fic about her first good day back on earth. also featuring: her recovery process, almost-yoga, and a soft surprise. I hope you like it, and happy holidays! (i'm sadhipstercat on tumbr, come talk to me!)

When Isabel Lovelace woke from her roughly third hour of sleep at four am, she knew it was about as much as she was likely to get. No point delaying the inevitable, then. She swung herself out of bed. The impact of landing on the hardwood floor was still shocking to her. Years in zero-grav meant floors felt foreign to her now. She’d been on Earth for two months, and each day felt a little more real than the last. Fatigue and adjustment from no gravity to a lot of gravity had her bedridden for most of those two months, though thankfully in a guest bedroom in Minkowski’s apartment rather than some government lab or hospital. She  _ really  _ didn’t want to think about how those months would have been otherwise.

Despite her lack of sleep, she felt awake and alert for once. Maybe her body was used to so little sleep. Maybe she didn’t  _ need  _ all that much sleep. Either way, she was glad to finally be rid of the nagging headache that had plagued her for so long.  She stood for a moment, breathing steadily until her heart rate evened out.

“You can do this, Isabel. You’ve had a bad night, a bad week, hell, you’ve had a bad lifetime, but not today. Today will be a good day. I will make today a good day.”

It was a variation on a mantra she’d been repeating every day. Positive thinking, her therapist assured her, would help. And it did. A little. The Isabel Lovelace who had gone up in space all those years ago would have laughed at the concept of positive thinking, but then, she wasn’t her anymore. She was different. Again.

The she that she was had ‘died’ on reentry to Earth, and the she who had come back was different. Calmer, gentler. She didn’t know why or how, but she was okay with it. She was learning to be okay with it.

Lovelace stretched, carefully and slowly. She sat down on the floor and stuck her legs out as far as they could go to either side and leaned over until her forehead was almost touching the floor. Yoga was a little too much for her at the moment, but she was working her way up slowly by adapting some dance stretches to her ability level. She switched positions, stretching her legs, her arms, her back, and repeating her little mantra every time. By the time she stood up, nearly forty minutes later, her mind was calm. She could move without hurting. And that was enough.

Six am meant she could reasonably leave her bedroom and find some food. Minkowski was usually up in the small hours of the morning, woken by the same nightmares—well, probably not the  _ same— _ that haunted Lovelace. But they’d made a pact to at least act like normal, functioning human beings, in hopes that it might actually be true one day. So. No breakfast until 6:00. Breakfast was toast and tea, but the really good tea, the expensive stuff that came in whole leaves. As she ate, she let herself think without trying to police her thoughts—another suggestion of her therapist. Today her thoughts were nice. No guns, no explosions, no screams or aliens or emergencies. Today she thought about the walk she might take later, about washing her sheets and using some really nice laundry detergent to make them smell better, and what she might try to cook for lunch. “A good day,” she repeated to herself, rinsing out her mug.

—

Eight am brought her to a small, concrete building a short walk from the apartment complex. She felt good enough to walk it today, and so didn’t bother Minkowski for a car ride. She usually arrived early, and today was no exception.

“Morning, Isabel,” Dr. Paul said. She put down her briefcase to unlock the door, letting Lovelace go in first. “How are we today?”

Lovelace turned that over in her mind as they walked through the dim lobby. 

“I’m…feeling confident,” she said finally. Dr. Paul raised her eyebrows. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. Had a nightmare, but I was able to shake it. I did my stretches, my mantra, made some breakfast, and even cleaned up after myself. Every day for two months, I’ve said I was going to have a good day. Today will be the first time it’s going to be true.”

“Good. But remember, Isabel, even if today turns bad, that is not a failure. Having a good morning is the first step to a good day.”

“I know,” Lovelace said firmly. “But today I  _ will  _ have a good day.”

—

The two hours in Dr. Paul’s office flew by for one, but Lovelace didn’t feel wrung out by the time she left. She walked back to the apartment the long way, even taking time to stop in the nearby park and sit for a while. It was nice out today, the barest hint of autumn chill hanging in the air, and Lovelace breathed easier out here than she had in Dr. Paul’s office. She returned to the apartment to sounds of Minkowski moving around. They didn’t speak to each other much anymore—too much uncertainty and far too many memories—but just being around someone who understood what she was going through helped. So she made lunch in silence, boiling noodles and heating up sauce. They ate together at a rickety kitchen table, and Minkowski offered to clean up. That took about an hour out of Lovelace’s plans for the day. 

So she went back to the park.

Lovelace sat on a bench, content to soak up the sun for a few hours. About twenty minutes into her semi-meditation, a loud sound shook her concentration. Something heavy hit her square in the chest, and she fell to the ground. It was instinctual, now, this panic that gripped her. She was back on the ship, which ship, it didn’t matter, all of them sucked, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t  _ breathe— _

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” 

The voice had no place in her memories of space. It was too high, too soft. That, along with the gentle hand on her shoulder, snapped her out of her panic.

Lovelace slowly opened her eyes, eventually focusing on two things: a woman dressed in a shockingly pink dress, and a large, shaggy dog. The dog looked unfairly pleased with this situation, tail wagging madly. The woman looked horrified, apologetic, embarrassed. Lovelace shook her head to clear it.

“What happened?”

“Sorry,” the woman repeated. She grabbed the dog’s collar and tugged him off Lovelace’s lap. “He thinks everyone is thrilled to see him, even random ladies he doesn’t know in the park. I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lovelace said, some instinct of manners activating unexpectedly. The woman stuck out her hand.

“I’m Tilly, by the way. I’ve seen you around here sometimes. Not that I’ve been looking for you! It’s just a small park and Dude and I go on a lot of walks.”

“Your dog’s name is Dude?” Lovelace asked, amused in spite of herself. The panic was long gone now, back deep in her chest where it belonged. It was replaced by curiosity and amusement, two things she hadn’t felt in a long time. Tilly blushed, which only made Lovelace’s amusement grow.

“Oh, yeah. It was Duke when I picked him up from the pound, but he’s such a doofus. Dude fits him a lot better.”

“Ah,” Lovelace said. The dog did, in fact, look like a doofus. She stuck out her hand, letting him sniff it, and was rewarded with a wet nose pressed into her palm. She smiled.

“Speaking of names…” Tilly said. “Do you have one?”

“Lo—Isabel,” Lovelace corrected herself. Tilly’s eyebrows rose. 

“Hey, you can like, tell me off if I’m totally just pulling this out of my ass but…are you military?”

Lovelace blinked. “Yeah, I am. How did you know?”

Tilly shrugged. She tugged Dude’s collar, bringing him closer to her. “Like knows like, I guess. You have that shell-shocked look. I know I couldn't shake mine for about a year. When did you get back?”

“Two months ago,” Lovelace said, not sure why she was telling a complete stranger this. She pulled in her knees, resting against the leg of the bench. Tilly sat next to her with a sigh.

“Seems about right. Lieutenant Tilly March, Navy. You?”

“Captain Isabel Lovelace.” She hesitated. “Air Force originally, most recently…private sector work. Not official military anymore, but.”

Tilly nodded. “I get it. It’s still who you are.”

Dude wiggled free of Tilly’s hold around his neck. He jumped up to lick Lovelace’s face and then bounded away before she could react.

“Come on, Dude!” Tilly shouted at him. “Could you at least  _ pretend  _ to behave yourself for once?” 

She shook her head fondly. “Whatever. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s a nice dog,” Lovelace offered. 

Tilly’s face brightened. “Thanks! He’s my angel. My first big purchase after I got back, about five years ago now. Kept me sane, kept me functioning. How about you? Got pets or anything to get your mind off things?”

“Nah. I had some cats before but…yeah, no. Not anymore.”

“Oh no. You’re not alone, are you?” Tilly clapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry into your business. You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lovelace said, surprising herself by how true it was. “No, I’m living with a….friend? Kind of? We were on assignment together. We’re both getting our feet under us again. I’m crashing at her place while she figures out how to tell her husband she’s still alive.”

Tilly looked horrified.

“Uh, that was a joke,” Lovelace said hurriedly. “….kind of.”

“I want to say I understand, but I really kind of don’t,” Tilly admitted. It drew a smile to Lovelace’s face, and she looked down to hide it.

“Hey, tell me if I’m overstepping or something, but do you want to do something together?”

“When? Right now?” Lovelace asked.

Tilly shrugged. “Sure, if you’re up for it. I understand if you’re not, though. Real life can be a little much, especially in the first few months.”

“No, I’m interested. What did you have in mind?”

“It’s up to you. Me and Dude usually make a circuit around the park and then walk home, but I’m sure he wouldn't mind an extended play time. You mentioned cats, right? I volunteer at the pound where I got Dude, and they just got a new litter of kittens. We can go say hi, if you’d like.”

Lovelace almost checked her watch, but really, what was the point? It wasn’t like she had anything pressing to attend to. Minkowski could find her own supper and there was nothing but boring routine waiting for her at the apartment.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Yeah?” Tilly asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

—

Hours later, Tilly and Dude walked Lovelace back to her apartment. The sun was setting, bringing shadows crawling along the sidewalk. Lovelace carried a box in her arms, holding it close to her.

“So… this is me,” Lovelace said, gesturing to the building. Tilly nodded.

“Cool.”

“I would invite you in, but, uh…not sure Minkowski—my friend—would be ready for unexpected company. She….also just got back.”

“Hey, no worries, I get it. But it was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Lovelace said. She gave Dude a pat on the head. “And you too, buddy.” 

Tilly laughed. “I think he’s gonna miss you. Unless…”

“Unless?”

Tilly shrugged. “You don’t have to, but I’d kind of like to give you my number. In case you ever want to talk. I’m not—god knows I’m not the most well-adjusted citizen in the world, but, hey, I have experience with the whole ‘readjusting to life’ thing. And…I really had fun spending time with you.”

Instead of answering, Lovelace pulled out her phone—some shitty pre-paid flip phone that Eiffel insisted she get so they could stay in touch—and handed it to Tilly. Tilly punched in a number and handed it back.

“Text me sometime,” she said, rested one hand on Lovelace’s shoulder, and then she and Dude jogged off. 

Lovelace stood outside on the stoop for a few minutes, watching them leave. A noise from the box startled her out of her thoughts. 

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” she told the box, lifting the top and peaking in. Lady Fancypants VonSnuggleton, a ridiculously fluffy Persian cat, mewed at her plaintively. She was old, the pound had told her, but self-reliant. She would be good company, and Tilly had even waived the adoption fee. 

The last edge of the sun slipped out of view, streetlights flickering on, and Lovelace realized she had gone a whole day without a panic attack, or even slipping into that all-too-familiar dark mental place. She had gone out with a friend (?), played with a dozen tiny fluffy kittens, wrestled with a stupid, loving dog, and went shopping for cat food. Like a normal, happy person.

“It’s been a good day,” she told Lady, who remained unimpressed. 

That night she went to sleep with a warm body curled up next to her, purring quietly to guard against the nightmares. Lovelace had a good day, and for the first time, looked forward to another good one in the morning.


End file.
